Götterdämmerung

by Barry Reese

  Morgan, meanwhile, hurried over to Dieter and seized the man before he could sound any kind of alarm.

  “We want answers,” The Peregrine said. “Where’s The Mother of Pus? What’s her plan? And how do you boys figure into it?”

  Vulthar laughed coldly. “I have to say, Herr Schneider, I do not think much of the security of The Reich.” He stepped into the middle of the pentagram and said, “I need sacrifices, gentleman. Three of them will do, particularly if they’re strong ones, as you have revealed yourselves to be. Whether you surrender willingly or I have to do this by force matters not.”

  The Peregrine frowned. He needed information and he quickly realized that Vulthar wasn’t going to give it. Their best bet lay with the professor. Hopefully, he knew enough to be truly helpful. “Andre,” he hissed. “Let’s kill this guy.”

  Catalyst wasn’t upset by that command in the least. “Your wish is my command,” he said.

  Suddenly the room was lit up not only by Catalyst’s blast of magical force but by a similar one that shot forth from Vulthar. The beams of energy slammed into one another and shook the building to its foundation. The glow of energy could be seen through the windows, alerting Samantha across the street that something was happening.

  The Peregrine put away his gun and drew forth The Knife of Elohim, a mystical blade that had been dipped in the blood of Christ. This caused the weapon to glow in the presence of evil and to do extra damage to those whose souls were steeped in sin.

  It was now glowing so powerfully that it was almost blinding.

  Gritting his teeth, The Peregrine jumped forward into the pentagram, willing to take the battle directly to his enemy.

  * * *

  Dieter resisted the urge to bolt and run. Though he’d come to realize his cowardice in recent days, he knew it would not be wise to abandon his post at Vulthar’s side.

  Instead, he fumbled for a pistol that he knew was kept in a nearby drawer. Security in the Reich sometimes meant that you had to be prepared for anything and that often meant that even men of science kept armed weapons at easy reach. He had just yanked open the drawer and started to place his fingers around the hilt of the gun when Morgan barreled into him with shoulder lowered.

  The impact sent Dieter to the floor and knocked the air from his lungs. He wheezed for a few seconds before looking up into Morgan’s angry face. The American held Dieter’s gun now and he brandished it with obvious familiarity.

  “A Mauser?” Morgan muttered. “Nice.” He leaned forward and seized Dieter’s collar, yanking him closer. “I have the feeling that you might have answers to a whole lot of our questions. Am I right?”

  “It’s hopeless,” Dieter hissed. “You obviously have no idea what’s really going on here!”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” Morgan drew back his hand and slammed the butt of the Mauser into Dieter’s temple. With a groan, the scientist passed out, his eyes rolling up into his skull.

  * * *

  Andre had to admit that The Peregrine had guts. There he was, locked in mortal combat with a man obviously possessed by some sort of elder power and all he was armed with was his wits and an enchanted blade. Oh, it was one of the fabled Knives of Elohim to be sure, but their greatest power came when united. Separate, they were capable of carving through most enemies with ease but against someone like Vulthar, it would not be enough.

  As such, Catalyst was prepping a powerful spell that might save the day, assuming he got a clear enough shot at Vulthar to use it. The Peregrine was unintentionally making that very difficult.

  Hearing the booted footsteps of armed men hurrying down the hallway, Catalyst whirled about and placed his hands upon the closed door. It glowed, strengthened by his magic. Now it would take quite a bit of effort on the part of anyone to get inside.

  Catalyst turned back to the battle and saw Vulthar backhand The Peregrine with enough force to lift Max Davies off his feet. The masked hero landed with a grunt and barely dodged an energy blast that would have taken the flesh off his head.

  Vulthar stepped back and unleashed a string of ancient words. He was casting some sort of spell; the one that would have required the use of sacrifices. Catalyst could only assume that the man was willing to gamble that he could pull off the spell without the life essences that he craved. And why not? If Vulthar was defeated, whatever he’d been trying to do would be thwarted regardless. Better to simply try it and hope for the best.

  Catalyst surged forward, eager to stop this from happening, but he realized his mistake too late. As he entered the pentagram, Vulthar looked in his direction and grinned triumphantly. The villain had obviously decided that three sacrifices would not be needed at all, providing that there was a single one that would prove just as powerful.

  Andre screamed as Vulthar opened his mouth wide and belched out a tremendous burst of magical fire. It engulfed The Catalyst and destroyed his physical shell, which had been kept animate all these years through his sheer force of will. Now that he was older and weaker, he was unable to protect himself from the attack.

  And in one powerful instant, The Catalyst was destroyed and the spell took effect.

  The pentagram started to glow and a high-pitched sound filled the air, making everyone flinch in sudden pain. All over Germany, animals reacted just as violently. The noise dug deep into their brains and spoke of something awful. Dogs barked, cats hissed, and horses kicked out at anything and everyone within reach.

  But even worse, deep below the seas and mountains, dark things stirred. Glimmerings of consciousness began to form and limbs that had not moved for eons began to twitch. The more powerful the entity, the deeper in slumber it had been but their spawn, the quick and deadly babies that they had birthed along the way, were instantly awake and crawling towards the surface.

  Humanity was in tremendous peril and those poor souls who were sensitive to such things were once again inundated with feelings of dread and despair.

  * * *

  The Peregrine screamed. The painful visions that had often plagued him were back in full force now, slamming into his brain with all the force of a freight train. As before, he saw scenes of terror and destruction but now he saw horrible creatures, slithering up from the depths of the world’s orifices.

  When the images abruptly faded, he heard the triumphant laughter of Vulthar. He saw Morgan pointing his pistol at the villain and squeezing off two quick shots, neither of which made it to their intended target. The bullets seemed to stop in midair, several feet from Vulthar, who regarded them with disdain.

  On the floor in front of the villain lay the tattered emerald garb of Andre Thierry. Of the man who had once worn those clothes, there was nothing left save dust and bone.

  Max Davies cursed under his breath. He’d seen this too many times before: good men and women dying, while the forces of evil returned again and again. Fueled by a terrible drive for vengeance, The Peregrine brandished The Knife of Elohim and shouted for Morgan to take his prisoner to safety. As ordered, Morgan seized hold of Dieter’s arm and dragged him behind a metal storage cabinet.

  Vulthar’s triumphant grin faded a bit as The Peregrine approached, mystic blade glowing in his gloved hand. “It’s too late, masked man. They are waking up, all around the globe.”

  “You killed Catalyst.”

  “He died for a greater purpose than he ever served in life.”

  “I’m going to send you to Hell.”

  “Do you appreciate the irony of that, given that you’re armed with a weapon of your modern God?”

  “I don’t see it. Looks to me that a blade like this is the perfect thing with which to dispatch the forces of evil.”

  “It gained its power from an act of foulness!”

  “You’re wrong. It was a pure, noble sacrifice. You focus on the acts of the terrible men who took part in Christ’s death without realizing the bravery that it took to allow it to happen.”

  Vulthar shrugged. “Semantics.”

  “Fa
ct,” The Peregrine hissed between clenched teeth. He stabbed with his knife and the sharp blade dug deep between Vulthar’s ribs. The magic properties of the blade dealt extra damage and the wound sizzled.

  Howling in pain, Vulthar shoved back at The Peregrine with all his might. For so many centuries, he’d not felt the agony that came with human existence but now he was locked within this frail body that had once belonged to Lars Hansel and with it came all the aches and desires that plagued mortal men. Vulthar reached down to the bloody wound, intending to heal it with his dark magic but he found that his powers were unable to seal the gap. The Elohim blade was beyond that.

  The Peregrine, however, was not about to end his assault. Fueled by anger over both the loss of Andre and their failure to halt the ritual, he was not about to let Vulthar escape justice.

  Dodging a burst of magical power from Vulthar, The Peregrine launched himself into the air. He performed a flip that would have impressed an Olympic judge, soaring over the villain’s head and landing smoothly behind his back.

  Vulthar started to whirl about but it was too late. The Peregrine had planted his mark, driving the magical weapon he wielded straight into the madman’s back. The point of the blade protruded from Vulthar’s chest, dripping gore, and The Peregrine sawed it back and forth before finally yanking it free.

  Sagging to his knees, Vulthar gasped. He knew what was coming. His spirit would soon be fleeing this body and he would be summoned back to the great beyond. There, he’d face his dark masters, and he could only hope that they would approve of his actions today. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, his voice carrying to The Peregrine’s keen ears. “They’re awake. You’ve already lost. My fierce Mother will carry the day.”

  The Peregrine looked down at him, a grim expression on his face. “I’ve heard that sort of thing before, from a litany of evil bastards. Many of them served the same dark gods that you do: Doctor York, Nyarlathotep, Jacob Trench. In the end, they all lay dead at my feet. So forgive me if I doubt your words.” The Peregrine raised his blade once more and this time he buried it deep into the villain’s skull. The burning wound spread and consumed Vulthar’s flesh, causing it to peel away from the bone.

  Just then, one of the windows shattered inward and both The Peregrine and Morgan prepared themselves for an incoming rush of Nazis. To their relief, they saw Samantha poke her pretty head in through the broken glass.

  “C’mon, boys, there’s a fire escape we can use from here.”

  Morgan shoved Dieter forward, urging him to climb up to the slightly raised window. From behind them, the guards out in the hall had begun shooting at the door, planning to weaken it enough for them to break it down. They succeeded just as The Peregrine followed his friends up and out of the window.

  The vigilante turned back towards the Germans and reached into his jacket, pulling out a gas grenade. “Auf Wiedersehen,” he called out, tossing the bomb down to the floor. It detonated upon impact, filling the room with a dense cloud of smoke. The Nazis immediately began coughing, their eyes watering terribly and in that moment, the heroes were away.

  But one of their number would not be going home with them. The Catalyst of the 19th Century had extended his tenure as long as possible but now it was time for another to wield the power.

  Both Morgan and Max made a silent promise that his death would not be in vain.

  CHAPTER X

  Mr. Death Comes Calling

  Nimrod’s unhappiness was almost palpable. He had arrived in gloomy, rainy Sovereign City over an hour ago. Two German goons met him at the airport and he’d been disturbed by how stereotypical they had turned out to be. With their blond crew cuts and thick accents, they seemed like they had just stepped out of a bad movie.

  Together, the three of them had traveled in relative silence to the harbor. While there was a thriving shipping business in Sovereign, Nimrod had heard that there was always a plethora of abandoned warehouses which were perfect for clandestine meetings of this kind. According to the bigger of the two Nazi agents, Nimrod was to be introduced to another special agent who had also just arrived in the city.

  An expert at watching people, Nimrod noticed that both men seemed very uncomfortable whenever they mentioned this other being. He wasn’t sure if they were doing that out of fear or something else but he knew that he would find out soon enough.

  When they’d entered the darkened warehouse, one of the men had fumbled with the lights before finally finding the right switch. Bright bulbs that hung overhead illuminated the interior and Nimrod blinked as he looked around. The warehouse was filled with wooden crates, many of them stacked precariously on top of each other.

  After a moment of quiet, Nimrod turned to one of the men and said, “Where’s this guy at? Did you pick the wrong warehouse?”

  A soft rustle of fabric set off Nimrod’s internal warning system. He spun about, drawing his gun. A shadowy figure could barely be seen, lurking about in the labyrinth of crates.

  “I’m here,” the fellow said with a slightly mocking tone. “You’re Dimrod?”

  “Nimrod,” the mercenary replied, emphasizing the first letter of his name. He was growing tired of having his identity tweaked. Most people learned quickly to show him proper respect. Unfortunately, he’d failed to adequately instruct The Peregrine on that fact and he knew it wouldn’t be wise to anger his Nazi employers at the moment. “What about you? What are you called?”

  The figure that emerged into the light was hideous enough that both of the goons with Nimrod stepped back. Even Nimrod found himself unable to speak for a moment. Dressed in an outlandish costume, complete with a small cape, was a monstrous figure whose head appeared to be nothing more than a skull. Though he knew it must be some sort of mask, the complexity of the sculpting was astonishing.

  “You can call me Mr. Death,” the man said. He took a courtly bow and added, “I’m the most dangerous man in the Füehrer’s employ.”

  Nimrod snorted. “Really? Look, son, if you were all that, you wouldn’t need the dramatic suit. The really scary people can terrify people without theatrics.”

  “Says the man who named himself after the grandson of Noah.”

  “That’s not the same thing as wearing a skull mask.”

  Mr. Death suddenly reached up and seized the sides of his own head. He began yanking at it, sounding frightened as he said, “Oh, no! This mask! I can’t get it off! I put on too much glue!” He suddenly stopped and doubled over with laughter. “This handsome visage is all mine, Dimrod. Believe it or not.”

  “I’ll take the not.” Nimrod put away his pistol. “Look, I’m here to kill The Peregrine. You can do whatever it is you’re supposed to do. Let’s just agree to stay out of each other’s way.”

  “Plans have changed,” Mr. Death said. He moved towards Nimrod quickly, his cape billowing out behind him. “No sign of The Peregrine in town. He may have bolted back to Atlanta.”

  “What? Jesus Christ!”

  “You have a real thing for the Bible, don’t you?” Mr. Death placed his gloved hands on Nimrod’s shoulders, noting that the other man stiffened at his touch. “You’ll have to put your plans for the bird-man aside for now. I’m here at the direct orders of Himmler. There’s a… thing… here in town. I can sense it. I want it. I need it. You’re going to help me find it.”

  Nimrod shrugged Mr. Death’s hands off of him. “Mister, I’ve never heard of you and I don’t know why you think I have to listen to you. As far as I’m concerned, we’re equals—at best. So if you have your own concerns, that’s fine. They’re your concerns. Me? I have one specific task and if The Peregrine’s isn’t in town, then there’s no need for me to be, either.”

  Mr. Death stared at him in silence and Nimrod frowned. Up close, it was really amazing. He could see no seams in that mask. How was it attached? What was it made of? He’d seen human remains too many times to count so he was good at recognizing bones and he’d be damned if this didn’t look real.

 
; Mr. Death turned away and tossed his hands in the air. “That’s disappointing, Dimrod. Really disappointing. I was hoping you and I could become pals. I wanted to sit on the front porch after a hard day’s work and share a couple of beers. Maybe talk about how Myrtle and Daisy are just driving us nuts but what can you do? Can’t live with them and can’t live without them! Am I right or am I right?”

  “You’re insane.”

  Mr. Death cackled and burst into action. He moved so fast that even Nimrod was frozen in place. The Nazi whirled and dove at the closest of the goons, raining a series of blows down upon the man’s face that sent droplets of blood flying into the air. He had launched himself at the other fellow within seconds, knocking the brute’s back against the wall. Grabbing the man by the ears, Mr. Death repeatedly slammed his skull against the wall, shattering the back of his head.

  Nimrod remained where he was, watching with narrowed eyes. Mr. Death turned to face him and shrugged. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Death tapped the side of his head. “I’m ker-azy.” He stepped over the corpses and moved back into the shadows. “Call Fritz. Ask him if you have to do what I say. Then you sit your ass down and prepare to listen to my plan. I’ll be right over here, washing this scum off my boots and gloves.”

  Nimrod stared after him before walking out of the warehouse. He planned to call Fritz all right and he’d give him a piece of his mind. Not only did he not work with others, he certainly didn’t work with psychopaths.

  That was a rule that he didn’t plan to violate any time soon.

  Sighing, he realized that he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. Not yet, anyway. He was being held by the short hairs and if he wanted to get out with his skin intact, he might be forced to play along for a little while longer, even if it meant more contact with the bizarre Mr. Death.

  * * *

  Gravedigger approached the closed door and seized hold of the knob. It was locked, as nearly every other door at 6196 Robeson Avenue had turned out to be. “They really don’t trust me.”